


Close to Home

by neednot



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Romance, Smut, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neednot/pseuds/neednot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MSR drabbles in 600 words or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Mulder takes Scully home after "memento mori." Angst ensues.

She hasn’t said a word since they got in the car. 

She’s still wearing that white robe that almost looks a size too big for her and he marvels at how small and fragile she looks—is. 

He knows how much she hates to be thought of as fragile, as someone needing protection. How much she prides herself on her strength, not weakness. 

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says absently, like she’s reading his thoughts. They pull up in front of her apartment building and he resists the urge to help her out of the car.

She pulls the robe tighter around herself and lets him unlock the door. Her red hair lays lank, tear tracks still visible on her face from earlier. 

He wants to take care of her. He wants to wrap her up and keep her safe and give her the cure.

But he doesn’t. 

“You should shower,” he says as the walk into her living room, and she turns, a hint of a smirk on her face. 

“You just want to see me naked,” she says, but it lacks the usual bite. Without hesitation, she pulls at the tie of the robe, stands in nothing but her bra and underwear.

He resists the urge to look. She’s already so small, so thin, and if he looks at her now he won’t be able to stop counting the lines of her ribs that he knows will protrude later, won’t stop himself from imagining the prominence of her collarbone, won’t be able to stop himself from seeing her die.

“Mulder,” she says, and he looks. 

She is before him, and she is alive, hands spread by her sides like an offering. 

He turns away. 

“Dammit, Mulder,” she says. “Look at me.” 

He can’t bring himself to. 

He feels the warmth of her in front of him, can see her shoulder out of the corner of his eye. 

“Look at me,” she pleads. 

He turns his head and he does. She is staring up at him with those blue eyes and she’s biting her lip in that way that drives him mad. 

“Kiss me,” she says. 

He bends down, kisses her forehead like at the hospital. But when he pulls back she puts her hands on the other side of his face and pulls his lips down to hers. 

He can feel her pressing against him and he tries to hide how much he wants this so he kisses her lightly, tentatively. 

“Mulder,” she says, pulling back. “Mulder, I’m not dying.” She says it fiercely, like she wants to believe it. 

“I know that,” he says. 

“Then kiss me like I’m not,” she says, pressing against him more now, earnestly, her hands traveling down his torso. “Please.” 

“Scully—”

She doesn’t let him finish. Her mouth is on his, hot and insistent, and she’s clutching at him like a lifeline and she’s kissing him like she’s alive but he can’t bring himself to kiss her back, hold her back—

He pulls away first, and she looks at him, hurt in those piercing blue eyes. 

She doesn’t say anything, just turns and picks up her robe and heads to the shower. 

And he—he sits on the couch when she goes and buries his face in his hands and tries to talk himself out of loving a dying woman. 

On the other side of the wall, she tries to talk herself out of loving a man who may outlive her. 

It’s a futile attempt for both of them.


	2. saving grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-"Emily"

_“But that you found her and had a chance to love her… maybe she was meant for that, too.”_

_“This child was not meant to live.”_

 

The church is silent. She’s always found the church as a sort of comfort, of balance, but standing here in the middle of the aisle with her daughter’s coffin in front of her— 

Her daughter. 

She didn’t even think it was possible, but here— 

Here is her daughter, here is the proof. 

Is it easier not to think of Emily as her daughter? Lord knows she wasn’t a mother, as much as she ached and yearned to be. As much as she needed to be. 

She feels him standing behind her, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, and she knows he wants to say something, needs to say something. 

Watching him with Emily, watching the way he interacted with her, she was struck with—with something, with some sort of sudden yearning. She’s never felt broken because she can’t have kids, but for a second watching Mulder and Emily, she aches for the life she doesn’t, couldn’t have. A life of normalcy, a life not spent on the road in cheap motels, a life not spent chasing aliens and the paranormal. The unknown. 

She wants the known, the comfort and simplicity of a life—

With Mulder, she realizes, and for some reason that realization makes the tears fall even harder. 

She doesn’t know what she’s crying for, her lost child or her lost future or all her missing chances, she doesn’t know. 

And then he is there with his arms around her, strong and soothing like he always is, and she doesn’t want him to see her broken like this but she needs him to, she realizes, she needs this comfort and the solidity of him, of his presence. 

She wants her child back. Their child back.

She looks at the cross she wears around her neck. The one dangling from her fingers like broken promises to her child dangled from her lips. 

She wants it as far away from her as possible. She wants to throw it across the room and leave it behind like her daughter has been left behind. 

Instead he gently takes it from her, prying it out from closed fingers, like he knows what she’s going to do.

She looks at the red mark of the chain imprinted on her skin. Wonders if it’s some sort of metaphor for something. 

“She deserved better than this,” he says, and his voice is quiet but it resonates in her head like an alarm. “She deserved you.”

“I didn’t deserve her,” Scully murmurs. “I couldn’t save her.” 

She watches as the ashes of her daughter grow darker as tears fall from her face.

“You did everything you could,” he says, pulling her close.

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It does.” 

She doesn’t want to argue. Doesn’t want to have this fight with him. 

He pulls back, turns her around so she’s facing him, and reaches up behind her neck to secure her necklace. 

“You can’t throw everything away, Scully,” he says, and pulls her close. 

But the cross around her neck feels more like a burden than a saving grace.


	3. love bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck being careful. She wants everyone to know Fox Mulder fucked her in their tiny basement on their lunch break, she wants the look on their faces when she emerges with dark marks on her neck.

love bites // by [@need-not](https://need-not.tumblr.com) // the x-files // msr, romance/sex // pg-13/r // wc: 500

summary:  _Fuck being careful. She wants everyone to know Fox Mulder fucked her in their tiny basement on their lunch break, she wants the look on their faces when she emerges with dark marks on her neck._

* * *

 

She looks at the dark marks on her neck in her compact mirror, smoothing on foundation though she’ll wear a turtleneck to cover it later.

“You know my mother used to call them love bites,” she says as he watches her smooth makeup over pale skin.

They’re in the basement. Morning. Driving in separately because it looks suspicious if she shows up at the same time as him (even though she spent the night in his bed.)

They’ve been sleeping together (she hates that phrase) for about a month now, falling in love as seamlessly as they fell together, in the beginning.

Though she’s always been a little in love with Fox Mulder.

She sits on the office chair, her back to him as she applies makeup with a steady and practiced hand. The same hands that cut open and examine a body revealing truths now hiding the truth of her relationship.

She can feel him behind her, and she stands, snapping the contact shut. He pulls her close, nips at her ear. “Love bites?”

“Mm,” she says, leaning her head back, giving him full access to her neck. "When I asked.”

“Who gave you a love bite, Dana?”

“If you must know,” she says, and she draws in a breath because he’s sucking hard at her neck, “her name was Marianne.”

She feels him, hard against her thigh. “Catholic schoolgirl fantasies?”

“You wish,” she says. “Brother’s girlfriend. He always wondered why she liked me more than him.”

He laughs, his hands moving to pull back her sweater. “I bet you were a sight,” he says. “Sixteen and kissing girls.”

“You thinking about it?” she teases, palming him through his pants.

He responds by shrugging her sweater down, stretching the neck (she feels no remorse, she hates this sweater,) moving his lips down her collarbone and biting. She groans, needing more.

And then he stops. She whines.

“Mulder…”

“This isn’t being careful, Scully,” he says, and she turns around to face him as he echoes her words from this morning when he’d tried to leave a mark on her neck higher than the turtleneck would cover.

She responds by pressing herself against him, kissing him hard, her hands already tearing at his shirt, at the zipper of his pants.

Fuck being careful. She wants everyone to know Fox Mulder fucked her in their tiny basement on their lunch break, she wants the look on their faces when she emerges with dark marks on her neck.

“I don’t care,” she says, tugging at his pants, guiding him so she’s pressed against the wall. She moves her hands to her shirt, pulls it up and over her head. She knows he’s staring.

“Come on,” she says, her voice rough and low. “Mark me. I’m yours.”

He needs no further prompting. He sucks and bites and she moans and it’s all she can do to keep from screaming when she comes. When they’re done, panting, legs shaking, she disentangles herself from him and pulls the compact back out, the powder worn down now from months of continuous use. 

“Looks like I can’t cover them all,” she says, and grins at him wickedly. 

She wears a blouse instead of a turtleneck, admires the bruising down her neck and collarbone. 

“Love bites,” he says, tracing his finger over them. 

“More than that,” she responds, and she looks up at him. “They’re proof.”

His brow furrows. “Of what?”

“Of us.”


	4. what we once were

**what we once were // the x-files // msr // post- “home again” // angst**

His hand is rough in hers, callused, and she wonders when that happened.

Not like she’s had an excuse to touch him for a long time. Not like he’s been hers to touch.

But her hand still fits in his like he was made for her, or she for him, and as she leads him up the stairs to her apartment it almost feels like old times.

Almost.

But her place is different and he hesitates in the doorway where before they’d already have their clothes off. He stares at her like he doesn’t know her.

“Scully…”

His voice is as rough as his hands. She doesn’t want him to talk, she just wants to kiss him and hold him and not think, not fucking hear anything but the sound of their own breathing for awhile.

She wants him to touch her, not just his hands in hers but his hands on her, on her waist, under her shirt.

But if he touches her she’s afraid she’ll shatter. Afraid that while he tries to hold her together his touch will be the thing that breaks her in two.

So she reaches out. She crosses the void, and she places her hands on his shoulders, and he bends down to kiss her like he has for so many years.

It feels right. It feels wrong. It feels like old times and not, because she is not who she once was.

But neither is he.

The remnants of a beard scratch her face where before he used to be smooth, the lines by his eyes more pronounced.

But he is still hers, she is still his, and right now that’s the best either of them can hope for.


	5. fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally catching up and cross-posting my Fictober pieces here! Enjoy!

**1\. eins**

The first time she thinks about kissing him is in the passenger’s seat of the car as they’re driving down to some unknown destination, miles and miles of no man’s land endlessly stretched out before them. 

His hands are on the wheel. Hers on her thigh. 

If she kisses him right now, what will he do? Swerve off the road, fuck her in the backseat of the car? 

Pretend it never happened?

She doesn’t want to know the answer. So she doesn’t try. 

 

**2\. zwei**

The second time they’re in the basement, going over an old case. He’s got his glasses on and is chewing on a pencil, she’s sharing a minuscule bit of space over his desk and writing notes in her tiny, perfect handwriting. 

He’s intently focused, so much he doesn’t look at her. She studies him, the way his glasses fall down his nose, the look he gets on his face when he’s in the throes of concentration.

(She wonders what face he makes when he comes, then finds herself blushing at the thought.) 

If she kisses him right now, will he sweep the papers off the desk and fuck her in the basement?

Or will he pretend it never happened?

She’s still not brave enough to find out. 

 

**3\. drei**

The third time she almost does it. She’s standing in the hall of his apartment building and she’s telling him she can’t do it anymore and she doesn’t know what she means, whether or not it’s the case or the X-files or loving him from a distance. 

He steps closer to her, cups her face in his hands. 

If she kisses him right now there’s no going back. If she kisses him she wants him to carry her back into his shabby apartment and fuck her on the couch. 

He looks at her like he wants her to. 

But if she kisses him she won’t be able to leave, and that’s what she needs right now. 

So she steps back, and she turns, and she walks down the hallway.

She doesn’t look back. 

 

**4\. vier**

The fourth time she finally gathers her courage. He’s over at her place and she’s reading on the couch, absorbed. 

When she looks up he’s studying her, crooked smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He shifts so he’s closer to her. 

The German word for  _four_ is  _vier_  and in her head it sounds an awful lot like  _fear_.

But there’s no fear stopping her this time. 

If she kisses him she will never have reason to fear again.

So she does.


	6. fragile hearts

**fragile hearts //** the x-files // mulder // angst

_“I don’t know, but I do know you.”_

_“Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”_

He wants it to be her.

He knows that’s selfish and cruel and out there is a family who’s grieving over a lost daughter, lost chances.

But he lost his sister, too. 

And he knows it’s awful of him but for once he just wants a simple answer, he doesn’t want it to be aliens or a government conspiracy, he just wants his sister to be dead and gone so he can get rid of the awful  _hope_ that’s made its home in his bones.

Sleep isn’t going to solve this. 

He wishes she were dead. It’s an awful thought but it’s one that’s crossed his mind over the years. He wants her to be dead and he doesn’t, he wants the finality of loss but he knows if he has it then something in him will be missing, too. 

He wants it to be her, and he knows in his own fragile heart it isn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from  _hoping._

Hope is the thing with feathers but he just wants to pluck them out until he can’t feel the wings beating against his chest anymore.


	7. how can i

**how can i //** by @need-not // MSR // post-”pusher”

_you look at me and said ‘look at the moon’  
take it in it’ll be gone soon_

_how can i live without you_

_how can i live_

She could have lost him. 

It’s not until later the realization hits her, standing alone in her apartment and staring at her own face in the mirror. 

She could have lost him today. 

She wants to put her first through the glass but she is not a woman who lacks control so instead she grips her sink until her knuckles are white and avoids her own reflection. 

If she looks in the mirror she won’t see her face, she’ll see the barrel of a gun pointed at her, pointed at him. 

She loves him, and that realization is sharper than glass through her palm. It stings like the aftershock of his hands on hers. 

She is in love with him. 

And if she’d lost him today, he’d never know. But maybe she wouldn’t have realized it, either. 

She wonders why it takes a tragedy for her to realize her feelings. What that means. She wants to analyze and compartmentalize them, but there’s no analyzing when it comes to Fox Mulder. 

She brushes her teeth and turns off the lights, gets ready for bed. Thinks about calling him. Doesn’t call him.

Across town, he does the same. 


End file.
